2. PARADISE FOUND

2. Paradise Found

Making his way to Mr. Montgomery’s office Ed assumed he was a goner; back to looking for a job.  He knew how troubling this would be to Fran.  But he had really tried.  He thought of people he could contact about TV openings; Bob Miller, Buddy Becker, maybe Sandy Howard.  Then, “No use jumping to conclusions.  Let’s see what Montgomery wants.”

He passes from the firm’s barren epicenter housing the tabulation bullpen and Florence’s pocket-sized office into the surrounding ring of Junior Associate cubicles. ‘Junior,’ when he hears or reads it, offends Ed.  It seems belittling.  He has no idea how they do their jobs, but does know that they produce interview notes by the carload. He had come to admire some of them as they float in and out delivering new batches of documents for him and the others to unscramble at Florence’s direction.  He particularly respects the ones who create really copious write-ups, despite these taking him longer to decipher.

For the remainder of the journey he takes the longer route to avoid being waylaid into Arthur Dougall’s corner suite along the way.  Dougall, the firm’s president, silver haired, wearing on alternate days either a narrow-lapelled Brooks Brothers suit or a brass buttoned blazer over grey trousers, always in a white shirt overlaid with an orange and black silk repp tie, seems to have nothing to occupy him except entertain visitors or company personnel.  He is almost always visible through the door of his large office, rocking in a roomy leather chair, puffing his pipe.  Frequently and randomly he invites passers-by of any rank into his office, offers them a seat, and chats about whatever seems to have popped into his mind. It’s always a surprise. He may want to discuss what his often reluctant visitor is working on.  But he’s just as likely to bring up a late news item, or some new business theory.  His motive is unclear.  Is it to show he is democratic, or perhaps to evaluate the employees?  Perhaps he is just lonely? No one knows.

A short while after Ed got his job, Gif described the leadership to him.  “Dougall’s a bit strange.   Crossley’s the heavy, the one with the knowhow.  Dougall’s the money man.  He doesn't know much about what really goes on, you know, what anyone actually does.  But I tell you, he sure impresses the hell out of clients.”  More Gif Dougall scuttlebutt: “He lives in Princeton. But he only goes down there on weekends.  We [Gif clearly already feels part of the firm] have an apartment at the Waldorf Astoria he stays in during the week.  And watch out for Norman, his secretary.  I wouldn't trust him.”  Ed was vaguely aware that Gif was saying less than his all about Dougall, but didn’t ask.

Some see being drawn into Dougall’s office opportunistically; hope it will improve their visibility.  Ed however, after one encounter, shuns the open door like the entrance to hell. He has told himself he is above self-promotion.  Actually he hates being ignorant or wrong.  Today, in any event, he rationalizes his avoidance.  He’s in no mood to play a question and answer game and certainly doesn't want to chance an interruption along the way to t he big meeting.

After passing the typists and offset printing area, he entered the golden loop, the fringe of outer offices housing Associates and Senior Associates.  They were strung out along two sides of the building, the Seniors facing on Park Avenue, the others 55th street. Fourteen somber unjacketed men; two similarly serious looking women, at cluttered desks, dictating to secretaries, talking on phones, or to each other.  As he passed, two Associates were entertaining visitors behind closed doors discussing, Ed flittingly wondered, god knows what.  The diplomas on their walls and Gif’s gossip had informed him that a few were engineers but that they were primarily graduates of the “B School” (never referred to it by its full ‘Harvard Business School’ name), and of Wharton.  Except the two women.  They were Hunter College and Catholic University alumna.  The Harvard Business School did not yet accept women, Wharton by then just a few.

He reached the reception area through the back door used by the staff, except officers, to get to their desks once they had checked in with Catherine, the receptionist/Switchboard Operator.   Elevators and stairs here led down to another arm of the company one floor below which, as the hold of their ship, housed less glamorous service employees in addition to a corporate subsidiary doing consumer market research. 

Catherine greets and announces visitors from behind a sliding glass opening.  She also notes the arrival times of all employees except the upper echelon.  Every morning at about 9:30 she submits her marked-up attendance sheet, tardy ones highlighted, to the front office. Catherine is effusive and charming with guests.  But according to Gif everybody in the office loathes her.  Not solely because of her strict time-keeping.  It is common knowledge that she eavesdrops on phone conversations and reports regularly to the President tidbits she deems damning or inappropriate.  She is, however, warm to Ed and calls him darling, so he has nothing against her. Perhaps what she has learned from his infrequent personal phone calls has had an effect.

Pushing through the heavy glass entry doors from the reception area he passes through the company’s impressive research library, the initial landscape visitors encountered by visitors.  Anne, the neatly tailored librarian, is of remarkable tactical value.  Her last name is Koufax.  As potential clients are escorted back to the elevators after their first visit they are invariably introduced to her. The standard patter begins “I’d like you to meet Miss Koufax.  She’s Sandy’s[1] sister and we’re proud to have her.  She’s one great librarian.”

A right turn from the library finally brings Ed to the front offices, each with its with leather covered couch, rectangular coffee table topped with a decanter, and a tray of crystal drinking glasses and china cups and saucers. These spaces are occupied by three vice presidents, Mr. Montgomery in the first he comes to.  Last on this side; the offices Ed has avoided, occupied by Arthur Dougall’s secretary, and next to him in the far corner, the President himself.

Ed knocks and enters at Montgomery’s sturdily intoned welcome.  “You asked to see me?”  “Yes.  Please sit down.”  Robert Montgomery, tall and blond, a Nordic version of an El Greco portrait, thin faced and unsmiling.  He is hard of hearing and his loud speech invites other to speak up too. The office scuttlebutt is that he was deafened by depth charge blasts while a wartime submariner.

A long silence, Montgomery reading the two sheets paper on his otherwise bare desk. Ed stifles his thought, “Who needs this king-of-the-hill crap?”  Montgomery looks up.  He asks how things are at home.  Ed tells him briefly that his daughter is fine and that his wife is doing pretty well.  Montgomery comes quickly to the point.  “Ed, you know we normally have a six month probationary period before deciding whether to keep a person on or not.” Ed does not recall hearing about this, but nods his head; thinks “here it comes.”  Montgomery continues:  “I've been hearing good things from Florence.  It seems you really like what you’re doing.  And you've been doing it well. So we've decided to cut the probationary period short, put you on the regular staff.  What we have in mind is to start you working on analyzing the kind of material you've done so well organizing.  I hope this sits well with you.  What do you think?”

Ed is stunned.  He had been ready for a forced escape, an excuse to leave. His thoughts tumble about. ‘I thought I’d be out of here.’ Then juggling the very practical benefits of being kept on. ‘This is going to make Fran really happy.  Jeez, I didn't even think of this -- we get to hold on to the medical plan.’

Montgomery silently congratulates himself on his ability to admit he was wrong.  ‘I misjudged.  I really had my doubts about him.’  He feels magnanimous, offering Ed the chance of a lifetime. 

Ed is calculating.  He sees himself playing along for now; feigns enthusiasm “Gee. Thanks Mr. Montgomery.  I’ve been finding it really interesting.  Sure, that sounds great – like a real challenge. I’m really surprised.” 

Montgomery rises, shakes Ed’s hand, exclaiming in his crisp baritone “Fine.  Welcome aboard.  I’m sure it won’t be long before we have a new Junior Associate on our staff,” (Ed winces) and returns to behind his desk. They sit a while discussing the change.  Finally Montgomery get up, Ed’s signal to leave.

He returns to his desk the way he came.  He has forgotten to ask about pay.


[1] Although the library truly did boast Ms. Koufax, the fame came later than Ed’s journey. A few years after the setting for this  story Sanford (Sandy) Koufax became perhaps the most dominating baseball pitcher of his time.